


Honeypot

by fishpoets



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Dark, Gen, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Off-screen death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:31:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishpoets/pseuds/fishpoets
Summary: What if, after leaving Blackwatch, instead of wandering the world in search of inner peace, Genji went searching for his brother?What if McCree found Hanzo first?





	Honeypot

**Author's Note:**

> this... isn't my usual fare. I had the idea and wrote most of it in a pretty bad headspace, and the fic kinda reflects that, so - fair warning, this is _not_ a Nice or Happy fic.

 

By the time Hanzo woke up it was almost noon, dazzling sunlight streaming in through the narrow gap between the curtains. He grunted and dropped his phone back on the bedside table, stretched his arms above his head with a sigh.

 

Unusually for him he'd slept like the dead. Even now he felt oddly drowsy, slowed-down and sleepy, his normal hyper-vigilance dulled and pacified for a while. _Relaxed_. Such a strange concept. The urge to simply close his eyes and fall asleep again was tempting, but Hanzo shook it off. It was well past time to be up. His new circumstances may grant him some leeway but he refused to be lazy.

 

Though after a night as energetic as the one he'd had, he rather smugly thought he'd earned the right.

 

Jesse had been rough, rougher than usual, and Hanzo found himself aching in all sorts of new and delicious ways. He hummed a tune under his breath as he dragged his heavy limbs to the kitchen, satisfied at the lingering burn. This- partnership, however it could be defined, was still new – he and Jesse only met a little over a month ago – and Hanzo was still adjusting to being around another person so much of the time, but he couldn't deny that it was swiftly growing on him. Jesse was growing on him.

 

His broad, strong body, his deep voice, his warm, affectionate smile... there were a lot of things about Jesse that Hanzo could get used to. Especially the ones that granted him such deep sleep.

 

It was so unlike him to indulge in something like this at all, let alone to immerse himself so fully in so little time. Reckless, at best. His father was probably turning in his grave.

 

Hanzo couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had triggered the change. Whether it was the five year anniversary, or the act of firing an arrow through the head of the last elder who'd given the order, or something else entirely – whatever it was, it had knocked something loose in Hanzo. Or broken something in him, perhaps; reopened the wounds he had already inflicted upon himself that fateful night. He couldn’t pinpoint the change, but once again he had been left feeling as adrift and flayed raw as he had _after_.

 

It was disconcerting, how similar he felt to when he first left the clan. The only compensation this time around was that, if nothing else, at least by now he knew how this worked. With familiarity came the oddest sense of clarity. It occurred to him late one evening when he was contemplating the logistics of drowning himself in the shower that he now faced a choice. Pride refused to let him simply lay down and die, so there were only two options left: to ignore the wounds, to let them close slow and festering as he did before – or, perhaps, to try something different. Set the bone so it could heal straight.

 

Exhausted and hungover the next morning he couldn't make himself truly believe those wild thoughts, but a desperate man will try anything.

 

He cut short the ragged end of his ponytail. Got his ears pierced. Bought a cake and ate it for breakfast. Went to the cinema for the first time in years to watch some mindless western superhero film, and spent the whole time scoffing at the absurd plot and impractical fight scenes. He enjoyed himself.

 

And not long after, in a bar, he met Jesse.

 

Jesse McCree was a bounty hunter, albeit one with a sizeable sum on his own head. He, like many others in their line of work, felt that competition was picking up now that the spotlight of Overwatch's all-seeing eye had receded, and he confessed (after more than a few tumblers of foul-smelling whiskey) that he was starting to find it tricky doing his job without worrying about his own back. A paranoia that he and Hanzo had in common.

 

Jesse was... interesting. Humorous. Clever. They longer they talked, the more Hanzo found him attractive.

 

For the first time in years, he decided not to deny it.

 

As it turned out, McCree was a man with regrets. A man with principles. Working with him, Hanzo came to discover he cared more about carrying out justice and doing the right thing than he cared about completing the job, and for the first time, Hanzo was starting to think that maybe his paltry efforts to redeem himself weren't so hopeless after all.

 

McCree wasn’t the sort of man to disappear without word.

 

But there was no whistling coming from the kitchen. No noise at all in fact; the kitchen was empty.

 

Hanzo frowned. Jesse hadn't put the sugar and cream out for Hanzo like he usually did after making his morning coffee. There were no breakfast leftovers on the stove. Confused, Hanzo searched the rest of the apartment, but there was no sign of the gunslinger anywhere – his boots and hat and gunbelt were missing, and there was no hint of wherever he might have gone.

 

He didn't answer either of his phones when Hanzo called.

 

Hanzo was just starting to get truly worried, his brain on overdrive drafting rescues and escapes and myriad other contingency plans, when the now-familiar sound of spurs clinked outside the front door. Sure enough the door opened to reveal McCree, quietly whistling a jaunty tune; when he noticed Hanzo standing in the kitchen doorway, watching, he stopped short with surprise.

 

“Hey there, dollface.” His eyes flicked down to Hanzo's clenched fists. “Somethin' wrong?”

 

Worry gave way to relief, which bent to make room for a spark of irritation. Hanzo let his hands relax. “Where were you?” he asked. “You did not say you intended to go anywhere this morning.”

 

Jesse shrugged. “Had some business to attend to. Short-notice like; you know how it is.” When Hanzo kept scowling his expression softened into something more apologetic. “You were worn out, doll. I didn't have the heart to wake you.”

 

Hanzo crossed his arms. “What sort of business?”

 

“Personal.”

 

“And is this personal business going to cause trouble?”

 

The corner of Jesse's wide mouth twisted. “Depends on your definition of trouble.”

 

If you asked him, Hanzo wouldn't have been able to say what it was that unsettled him. Whether it was that twist in Jesse's lip, or the hard set of his jaw – usually handsome, now mulish, as if gearing for confrontation. Whatever it was, it had the hair on the back of Hanzo’s neck standing upright. Instincts that had spent the last month muted and sleepy pricked awake with suspicion. Why did it suddenly feel like he was sharing the room with a stranger?

 

Fragile trust curdled in his stomach. He slid one foot back, widening his stance, weight balanced perfectly for either fight or flight.

 

“What definition should I be using?”

 

Jesse's eyes narrowed. Hanzo stared, pulse kicked to a gallop, as Jesse scratched his hair and readjusted his hat. In the silence something beeped quietly on Jesse's person. He shifted his hips and sighed. “Thought you'd be knocked out longer,” he muttered. “Ah well. Nothin' for it now, I suppose.”

 

Hanzo had been preparing himself for the speed of Jesse's draw. He was more than ready for the flashbang. He deflected it and the heavy punch that followed with a swift one-two, kicked Jesse away and tackled him into the wall, ignoring the enticing embrace of Jesse's delicious spicy scent. Hanzo had been trained to fight from birth but he was acutely aware that McCree had the advantage – he was both fully clothed and armed; Hanzo was still in sleepwear and barefooted, and with a body that wasn’t responding like it should. They had sparred before, but McCree had never fought like this. Brutal. Decisive. Panic crept in around the edges of Hanzo’s focus. His razor-sharp reflexes felt slow, slowing more the longer they fought to the point he could barely keep Jesse's blows at bay. And despite the danger, even as the fear rose to choke him, his dragons seemed beyond his reach, dampened and far away, unwilling or unable to heed his call.

 

One miscalculation, a split-second off-balance, and Jesse had him down on the ground, pinned on his stomach beneath Jesse's size and weight. Humiliating tears pricked Hanzo's eyes as the terror took hold. His gut convulsed, bile burning into his throat – last night Jesse'd held him down so similarly to this and Hanzo had felt _safe_ , he'd _enjoyed it--_

 

What was happening?

 

_No less than you deserve._

 

“Sorry 'bout this, sweet thing,” Jesse said mildly, then smashed Hanzo's head against the floor.

 

* * *

 

Head aching. Tongue thick in his mouth. Movement wrung his whole body with nausea, sharpened the pain to a spike. Light shifted beyond his eyelids, and he could hear movement –he wasn't alone. Cautiously he tested his range of movement again; he was sitting upright, probably in a chair, with his arms and ankles firmly bound. There was no give when he tested the restraints.

 

He forced down the pain and blinked open his eyes.

 

He was greeted by featureless concrete room, the only entrance one heavy steel door ahead of him. McCree was sitting on an upturned crate a few feet away, polishing the barrel of his gun. He looked up at the creak of Hanzo's chair and grinned.

 

“Wakey-wakey, sleepin' beauty.”

 

Hanzo snarled. _“You.”_

 

The grin widened. “Me.”

 

“Who are you working for?” Hanzo spat, flexing against the bonds. If he could dislocate a thumb, get one hand free-- “What do they want with me?”

 

McCree shrugged placidly. “No one. I'm a free agent. Like I said, this is personal business.”

 

“Personal? How could it be so? We were strangers before-" _before I let you in, like a blind fool._ "Explain yourself! What business could you possibly have with me?"

 

“We'd never met, no, and you might never have heard of me, but...” McCree clicked his teeth and whistled. “Oh Hanzo. Hanzo Hanzo _Hanzo_ , I know a _hell_ of a lot about _you_.” He stood, twirled his gun into its holster. “About what you did to Genji, specifically.”

 

Ice gripped Hanzo's lungs. He stilled.

 

“Genji?” he croaked.

 

“Yeah. You remember Genji, right? Your little brother, the one you struck down in cold blood?” McCree shook his head. When their eyes met his were chilled, wild with hatred. “Let me tell you somethin', Hanzo; I don't take kindly to people hurtin' my friends. Lucky for you Genji's got some grievances he wants to share with you himself, 'cause let me tell you, I am just _itching_ to tear you open with my bare hands.”

 

Hanzo's throat clicked as he swallowed. “You speak of him as though he still lives.”

 

“Oh, that's right, I forgot you didn't know.” McCree spread his arms wide. “Welp, surprise!”

 

“No.” Hanzo shook his head. “No...”

 

“Don't believe me, huh? No matter. You'll see for yourself soon enough.”

 

“My brother is _dead._ ”

 

McCree looked at him, pitying. “Naw, he ain't. Sure has wished he was at times, though. You did a real number on him, you know that?”

 

“You _lie!”_ Hanzo's voice cracked. He thrashed against his bonds. “You are a liar! How dare you speak as if you know him – you are not worthy to say his name!”

 

“'S'that so.” McCree's phone buzzed. “Hey, speak of the devil.” He dug it from his pocket and answered it cheerfully. If Hanzo strained, he could just make out the tones of the voice on the other end of the line. There was something mechanical to it. He could almost swear he recognised it, but... no, there was no chance. His mind must be playing games.

 

McCree laughed. “Naw, it weren't too bad. I have done this before, you know. Gonna have to take a million showers to wash him off, but I had some good fun, don’t you worry ‘bout lil’ ol’ me.” He glanced over and smiled at Hanzo – the same warm smile, the soft eyes and crows feet. It still looked affectionate. But it was a lie. Like everything else in his life Hanzo had ever put his faith in. A castle built from manipulation and deceit.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m about done. Be out in a sec.” McCree hung up, watched Hanzo for a beat, then snorted. “Aw, come now, don't give me that sourpuss look.” He stepped forward and brushed his thumb over Hanzo's cheek. Hanzo shook him off, grit his teeth so he didn't debase himself further by biting like an animal. McCree chuckled. “Bless your heart. Anyway, I guess this is it, huh? I'll see you in hell, sweetie. It’s been real.”

 

With a last tip of the hat and a whirl of that red serape, he was gone. The steel door clanged shut behind him. Hanzo was alone.

 

Even though McCree had revealed himself a traitor, even now, the room felt colder without him.

 

 _Pathetic_.

 

He'd thought – he'd thought –  
  
He was a fool. No one has ever loved him.  
  
_No one e_ _xcept Genji._ _B_ _ut you drove him away, didn't you? You drove him away until he_ _coul_ _dn't love you any more, and you were so bitter and jealous you killed him for it._

 

_No one will ever love you. Why would they? You are the worst kind of man._

 

He wasn’t left alone for long. The door opened, the screech of unoiled hinges loud in the silence, and in stepped – an omnic? No, a man, with strange armor and spikes of jet black hair...

 

The man turned to face him.

 

Hanzo’s blood turned to stone in his veins. He wanted to throw up. Genji was... But how..? No. No, it couldn't be – it couldn't – this had to be a trick. This mangled thing, this bastardisation of metal and flesh – this could not be his little brother, returned from the grave to seek vengeance.

 

But there was no mistaking those eyes. Hanzo knew the rage in them intimately.

 

It came to stand before him and looked down, those terrible, beloved eyes clawing down into the very depths of his weary, tattered soul.

 

How Hanzo longed to say something, _anything_ , to this demon, this apparition, but his throat rebelled and his tongue lay too heavy to move. Fear had taken the reins, and it used them to strangle him.

 

Genji's ghost drew its sword. Hanzo's ears rang with the sound.

 

A coward to the end, he closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Genji came out a few minutes later, drying his hands with a towel.

 

Jesse looked up as he walked over. “All done?”

 

He grunted and sat down next to Jesse, dangling his legs over the edge of the roof. He tossed the towel aside and splayed his hands palm up in his lap. The sun was at its highest, and burning hot; the last drops of water prickled as they dried off his bare skin.

 

His flesh left hand was shaking. The right was perfectly still.

 

He clenched them both into fists. “I didn't say anything.”

 

Jesse blew out a puff of acrid purple smoke.

 

“I didn't say anything,” Genji repeated. “There was so much I needed to make him hear, but I – I did not say a single word.”

 

One last slow puff, and Jesse pulled the cigarillo from his lips. He ground it out against the dirty tile. “What's done is done.” He flicked the stub off the roof. “This's been a long time comin'. It'll take you a while to adjust.”

 

“Yes, I know.”

 

“D'you feel any better?”

 

Genji looked down at his hands. He curled each finger, in then out, one at a time. Metal and flesh moved the same as they had that morning. Nothing about them had changed. “..I am not sure.”

 

Jesse hummed in understanding. They sat in silence for a minute before he pushed to his feet. “Welp, guess I'd best go clean up the mess.” He patted Genji's shoulder. “Let me know when you're ready to leave.”

 

He disappeared inside. Genji stayed sitting there, under the full blast of the sun, until his fans started whirring from the strain to keep him cool.

 

He sat, and felt nothing at all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i honestly wasn't sure how to tag this so if there's any tags you think should be up there, please let me know!


End file.
